Phone call
by tilleygirl
Summary: My take on what could have happened after the end of season 3.  Written as a birthday gift for RJ Lupins Kat.


"Hello."

A short pause. "Hi Mom." The deep voice of her eldest son greeted her and Elizabeth Mann smiled with pleasure. Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she left the rolled out pastry dough on the kitchen counter and sat down at the table. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, fluttering the pale yellow curtains, and warming her as she settled in for her daily conversation with the most attentive of her children.

"Oh Marshall. How are you?" His mother launched into a summary of her days activities, brought him up to speed on his brothers' latest adventures and told him, somewhat mournfully, about one of his classmate's newest child. Marshall made the appropriate grunts, um-hms, and 'oh reallys'. She paused, maternal alarm bells going off in her heart. Her eyes flitted over to the fresh cut apples, the mixed cinnamon and sugar, the pie pans awaiting their draping of dough. Slowly rising to her feet, Elizabeth moved into the living room.

"Marshall, honey. What's wrong?" Mrs. Mann could tell from the tone of his voice that something was bothering the most sensitive of her three boys. Her husband had gotten the sons he had wanted in the form of her two younger boys, but Marshall was all hers. He was her dreamer, her philosopher. He felt things so deeply she ached for him. He took things too much to heart.

Marshall opened his mouth, shut it, then to his horror felt tears starting to prick his eyes, His throat constricted and he knew if he tried to talk he would start crying. His desperate need for comfort had driven him to make the phone call, but he hadn't expected to want to blubber like a child.

"Marshall," his mother said softly as she sank into the recliner. "What's going on? Are you hurt, ill?" She didn't think that was the problem, but needed to rule it out. Her lips compressed as she thought about the two days that passed before she learned of his shooting several years ago.

"No," he croaked out. "Mom." His breath hitched and he fought to shove the sob rising in his throat back down. This pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. This rejection. Rejection of his love. Rejection of everything he had to offer.

"Is it a girl, Marshall?" Elizabeth Mann asked gently, already knowing the answer. Seven years of conversations with her son about his partner left her in little doubt about his feelings for her. Her husband's brief comments about how Mary stood up for Marshall cemented her instincts.

"She doesn't love me Mom, not like I love her. She doesn't love me." His ragged voice relayed his heartbreak and his mother's heart quivered in pain for her eldest boy. He had waited for so long to find the right girl. She had been afraid of this as she watched him become more and more attached to his partner. Their conversations always contained some mention or reference to Mary. Mrs. Mann closed her eyes and gently questioned him.

"Marshall, what happened?" Marshall never kept anything back from her when directly questioned. She had his trust that not everything he confided in her would be relayed to Seth. Over forty-five years of marriage and three sons, she had learned what needed to be shared, what needed to be held in confidence, especially with Marshall.

"She went to Mexico with an FBI agent named Faber. After I told her," his breath caught, "after I told her and she still went." The tears were rolling down his cheeks. The pain refreshed anew each time he thought about it. He knew Mary hadn't meant for him to find out. He wasn't sure if that hurt him more or not. The fact that she would keep a secret from him or the fact that she didn't want him to know because she knew it would cause him pain. An unfortunately timed phone call to the Denver office to speak with Faber on a followup with Gabe, led to the information that Agent Faber had gone to Mexico with some hot blonde US Marshal.

"You told her how you felt?" Elizabeth asked doubtfully. Her Marshall could be verbose, but not necessarily direct or concise. Her sharp eyes roved around her comfortable living room, alighting on familiar objects, family mementos that always brought a feeling of warmth and comfort. She sought out the photo on the mantle of the three boys as children, each proudly displaying a tin marshals star on his chest.

"You don't understand Mom. I can't come right out and say 'I love you.' She would run so fast I'd never see her again. But I told her in my own way and she knew what I meant." The memory of that conversation played through his mind, the expression on her face, the 'I'm thinking' response. What had she been thinking? Was it of him, or was she already considering Faber?

"Honey, you need to have an honest, direct conversation with her." His mother's voice cut into his thoughts. "You've told me before Mary doesn't like gray areas. Your father told me she is a good partner to you - supportive, loyal. A good shot too. He said you have reached the unspoken communication phase that great partners develop. I know you don't want to risk that Marshall, but these other feelings that are there between you need to be brought into the open before it starts to hurt the partnership. It's already hurting you. Talk to her."

Marshall sighed, his mother's sound counsel setting him back on course, as always. She was right. They had to talk.

* * *

><p>"Hello."<p>

A short pause. The note of irritation came through. She was supposed to be on vacation and people weren't supposed to be bothering her. Although she was a little uneasy that she hadn't heard from Marshall, not once. The uncomfortable thought that Marshall may have learned about Faber shot through her mind.

"Mary?" The soft voice was a strange one to Mary. She frowned. She hadn't recognized the phone number either.

"Yes," she answered, feeling vaguely uneasy.

"This is Elizabeth Mann." There was the slightest hesitation. "Marshall's mother."

Mary felt the blood drain from her face and a full blown panic took hold of her. She gripped the phone tightly, standing up quickly, her toes digging into the fine white sand, tension flooding her body. She had never even spoken to Mrs. Mann previously. A score of scenarios raced through her mind, all of them ending with Marshall's lifeless body.

"Is Marshall okay?" she asked frantically, "Has something happened to him?" She was already gathering up her items from the beach, depositing sunscreen, an unread book and the long, hotel supplied beach towel into the hotel supplied beach bag, eying the sleeping form of Faber with distaste.

"Is he hurt?" Her voice was rising. She was searching for the room key in her beach bag, trembling fingers refusing to grasp the card key. Mrs Mann hurried to reassure her.

"No, he's fine. He's not hurt." Another pause. "He's not physically hurt." The silence after that statement stopped Mary cold. Marshall knew. Somehow he knew. That was why he hadn't called. That was why he had called his mother, upset. Oh God, his mother knew. Her legs were trembling with relief that the tall doofus wasn't hurt, trembling with shame that her rash action had been discovered and was causing pain.

"Why are you calling me? I'm out of town at the moment." She glanced uneasily at Faber again. Could that crapweasel have called Marshall? She wouldn't put it past him, to rub it in a bit. His derogatory comments about Marshall were what first started to put her off him.

Elizabeth sighed, her lips compressed. She had been conflicted about making this call, but the urge to find some comfort for her child won out. She had the uneasy feeling Marshall would talk himself out of having the needed discussion with his partner. Elizabeth gazed at the photos hung up in the living room, a life's story told across the wall. Her wedding photo with Seth; baby photos of the boys; graduation photos – high school, college, various law enforcement academies; wedding photos of Stephen and David; grandchildren. One glaring omission that tugged at her heart every day. No wedding photo of Marshall, no smiling grandchildren with his blue eyes and lopsided grin.

"Marshall called me last night. He was very upset." Mrs. Mann's gentle voice hesitated. Mary's reaction had been very telling and she was unsure how to proceed. Mary may not be in love with her boy, but there were some deep feelings there. The panic in the voice of her son's partner had been clear.

Mary closed her eyes. It didn't take much to know what Marshall was upset about. She had hurt her best friend. Again. She hadn't meant to. Had never meant for him to find out. She just had to escape from his earnest face and his pointed words that were just shy of a declaration. Faber had been a total fluke. The FBI man had called at just the right, or wrong, time.

"He's very hurt Mary. I shouldn't interfere. I know that. A mother will do almost anything for her child though. And I want him to stop hurting. He loves you Mary. And I believe you know that. And based on your reaction when I called, I believe that you have feelings for my son too.

"Mrs. Mann." She stopped. What could she say? What was there to say? "I do care for your son," she said carefully, moving further away from Faber. "I don't want to hurt him. I never meant for him to find out." She fidgeted with the drawstring on the beach bag, searching for the words to say to Marshall's mother. The other woman in his life. " I don't know exactly what I feel for him. He's my partner, my best friend," she said a little desperately. "I don't want to lose that."

"You have to look inside your heart, dear. You think I could stay married to a man like Marshall's father if I didn't do that? Talk to him Mary. Tell him what you do know. Marshall is a very patient man. He will wait for you to figure out what you feel." There was silence a moment. Elizabeth glanced again at the empty space on her wall, space reserved for Marshall and Mary.

"He's a good man, Mary. You could do a lot worse." Mary blushed in shame, looking over at the pasty white body of Faber, slowly turning pink in the sun. The smug FBI agent certainly wasn't what she needed. Good for a quick screw, and it was quick, but not much else.

"I know he's a good man. The best I've ever known." She swallowed, turned to watch the waves rolling into shore. "I'm not good enough for him." The admittance cost her, but it was true. She was nowhere near good enough for Marshall. She couldn't give him what he wanted; a lifetime of devotion, 2.5 kids and a stable life. What she brought to a relationship was chaos and inevitable heartbreak.

Mrs. Mann closed her eyes at the pain in the young woman's voice. "Mary, I think that is for Marshall to decide. Please talk to him. He deserves that much from you." The rebuke was gentle, but hit it's intended target.

* * *

><p>"Hello."<p>

A short pause. "Hey Marshall." The voice was hesitant, low pitched. Marshall closed his eyes in pain. He wasn't ready. Wasn't emotionally stable enough to talk to her. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface. He was terribly afraid he would say something to her they would both regret. He knew she wasn't home yet. Was she actually calling him from Mexico, with Faber there in the room with her? A frisson of anger stalked up his spine.

"Marshall?" He heard it then, the fear in her voice. Something had happened.

"Yes, I'm here." The words came out more clipped than he had intended. The uncertain silence from Mary's end irritated him. He did not owe her anything. Certainly not the obligation to make her feel better.

"Are you okay? You sound ...odd." Marshall tried to regulate his breathing, She didn't know that he knew, so of course she would expect him to be the same as always. Happy-go-lucky, cheerful, supportive Marshall.

"Sorry. Yes, I'm fine. How's Mexico?" He realized the second he said it. She hadn't told him where she was going. _Idiot,_ he thought. _Well, I guess I am anyway_. He toyed with the remote control, blindly flicking through the channels, stopping on the Travel Network and it's week long focus on Mexico.

"I know you know," she said in a quivering voice. "We need to talk." She hated the unsteadiness she heard in her words. Mary drew in a deep breath filled with the tang of salt. The crashing waves were a soothing background to this uncomfortable conversation.

"That's what I tried to do before you left. And I won't do it while you have...company." The anger was clear now. Mary had to tamp down her own temper. She was not the injured party here.

"No company. Faber's gone. I asked him to leave. I'm walking on the beach, alone. I head back tomorrow." Marshall placed the faint sounds he'd heard in the background – seagulls. He envisioned her walking along the water in a white dress, one of those long, floaty affairs (_a guy can dream can't he?_), holding her shoes dangling from her fingers, cell pressed to her ear as the breeze lifted her long blonde hair, wavelets rolling in to cover her feet.

"What are you wearing?" The words were out before the filter was applied.

Mary chuckled, the low laugh warming his cold heart. "Skirt actually, if you can believe it – white. No bikini, sorry to disappoint." She sobered. "Marshall, you are the last person on the face of this planet that I wanted to hurt. You know me, you know what I do – I run. You told me something that scared me and I ran. Faber was an unfortunate accident of timing." She glanced up as some seagulls soared overhead, dourly wishing she had put her hat on. "I've been thinking, like you asked."

"And?" he prompted as silence stretched out between them. The TV showed images of loving couples walking the beach at sunset, holding hands. He turned his eyes away.

"And, you were right. About all those things I should be looking for." She followed the slow progress of a cargo ship in the distance. "Marshall, what is it you want from me?"

He didn't answer right away. So many possible answers. So many things he hoped for. Finally he said, "In the famous words of Cheap Trick, 'I want you to want me'."

Mary sucked her breath in. She had expected long, flowery speeches, not this direct and brutal honesty.

"Mary, you remember what I said to you in the office? You said I was right. I can provide those things to you, those things you need. I don't want to just be in your pants, I want to be in your soul, in your heart. I want to be your somebody." He gripped the phone tighter. "I want you to let me be your somebody." The TV broadcast a message 'Find your somebody in Mexico'. Marshall cringed and hit the off button on the remote.

"You are my somebody Marshall, in every way except in the bedroom. That changes things and I don't know if I can risk losing the most significant relationship of my life. I screw things up Marshall. I chase men away. I come with baggage that requires its own storage unit. You should be running screaming from me." He heard the tears threatening in her voice. "Why aren't you running?"

The little girl who expected everyone to abandon her was on full display. Marshall sighed. Maybe she was too damaged for him to ever reach. He rubbed his palm against the worn denim of his jeans, debating with himself. His hand clenched. He had to try.

"I'm not running because I'm an adult and I love you. Adults don't run. They deal with a situation. I'm not running because you are the best partner I've ever had, both professionally and personally. I don't want anyone else having my back. I like your directness. I see your compassion. I see your vulnerability. I have never exploited that Mary. I don't run because I see the person you could be if you allowed yourself to be happy. I could make you happy, if you gave me the chance."

Mary stood frozen on the beach, the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves hypnotic. The urge to physically run was strong, but she held her ground, her tenuous electronic connection to the most important person in her life holding her rooted to the spot as effectively as bonds. The words came in a whisper. "I'm afraid _I _would make _you_ unhappy." Her greatest fear given voice. That she would hurt this man even more, that she would make him miserable. That she would make him leave. Her legs felt weak as she waited for his words. Words she had run away from the previous week. Words she longed to hear fall from his lips now.

"Mary," he said patiently, " seven years of partnership. Don't you think I know you, know all the negatives, know all the challenges? I'm still there everyday Mary. It gives me joy to see you walk in every morning. I'm asking for that joy to start a little earlier in the day. When I open my eyes." The roar of silence over the phone, punctuated by the occasional cry of a sea bird, began to unnerve him. He held his ground, waiting for her to work out a response.

"You're happy to see me in the mornings?" The question, when it finally came, was full of wonder. Mary watched a beach vendor make his way up the shore, hawking his goods to bathers and surfers. She tried to wrap her mind around the idea of making anybody happy. Even her partner, who was far more tolerant than most.

"Yes, my heart feels a little lift every time I see your face." He tried to keep the note of hope out of his voice, sensing a small softening in her rock solid defenses.

"Okay. I'm back home tomorrow. We can talk more then. And Marshall," she paused as a grin curled her lips, " Is it just your heart that lifts?"

The End


End file.
